


i can't pretend

by mad_magic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Actor Clarke Griffin, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Pining Clarke, actor bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_magic/pseuds/mad_magic
Summary: It is all pretend. Acting. They are just doing their job.Clarke repeats it to herself like her own script she has to follow. A reminder of the lines they can’t cross, keeping her and Bellamy away from the edge of…something else. Something real....Clarke and Bellamy are co-stars on a popular sci-fi TV show. Their characters have a love scene they have to prepare for. Only neither of them are prepared for their real feelings to slip through their character masks.





	i can't pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So I have no clue where this fic came from. You can say it's inspired by Eliza & Bob's beautiful chemistry/friendship. Taking a small break from OHLD to post this sexy oneshot ;-) 
> 
> Title is obviously taken from Can't Pretend by Tom Odell. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

 It is all pretend. _Acting_. They are just doing their job.

Clarke repeats it to herself like her own script she has to follow. A reminder of the lines they can’t cross, keeping her and Bellamy away from the edge of…something else. Something real.

It isn’t the first time this has happened. Clarke has actually lost count of how many times she and Bellamy’s natural chemistry blazed the air between them until the whole room could feel the heat. The sexual tension between their characters had the fans and the media hooked for five seasons strong, despite the fact this was the first time they were actually having a canon love scene.

Bellamy is nervous about it. Despite his Adonis-like good looks ( _Teenbeat_ magazine’s actual words) and hordes of fangirls/fanboys that worshipped him in graphic and inappropriate detail online, he still felt insecure about shooting sex scenes. Bellamy didn’t like being shirtless on set and he enjoyed being objectified by their fans even less.

He's the humblest playboy Clarke knows. The conundrum of Bellamy Blake amuses her to no end. He could pull any girl he set his eyes on, which Clarke witnessed him doing plenty during his first year on set. Every female extra dropped their panties for him when Bellamy glanced their way and Clarke could only roll her eyes at his so-called cocky “charm”.

Back then, Clarke found Bellamy to be more a shameless _dick_ than charming. They started getting along better shortly after Bellamy stopped sleeping his way through Hollywood. Much to the relief of the crew and their co-stars, there were no more screaming matches on set (or Bellamy fucking an extra in _her_ trailer. She yelled at him for an hour straight just for that).

So, given his history, Clarke finds his obvious discomfort a bit hilarious. It serves to distract _her_ from the nervous butterflies she refuses to acknowledge.

“Really?” Clarke’s eyebrow hitches upward when Bellamy shows up at her apartment. “The fans are gonna faint when they see your thighs. They won’t even care about our acting.”

They are a sight to behold. Bellamy plays charity soccer matches in his free time and she caught enough glimpses of his body over the years to know he is seriously toned.

Standing in her threshold, Bellamy shifts his weight uncomfortably. He’s got his script tucked under his arm and is holding a To-Go order from Chipotle. Their favorites. She thinks she can spot the blush crawling under his freckled, golden-brown skin.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Bellamy says.

That’s all he says. But with her, Bellamy can layer an entire sentence into one word. Here, her name means _come on, let me in_ and _don’t tease me, I’m serious_.

She steps back to let him inside, knowing the difference by now when Bellamy can take her teasing and dish it back and when to back off. Another fascinating contradiction is how sensitive her best friend actually is, while still being so confident and headstrong, the press never catches a whiff of weakness from him. Bellamy Blake is the charming playboy to them and they’ll never know any different. 

They catch up while eating Chipotle on her couch, circling around the elephant-shaped script in the room. Their characters shared a passionate kiss a few episodes ago, which has already been filmed. Clarke has been doing everything she can to not let the memory of Bellamy’s mouth _ruin_ her and is having mixed results so far.

They had to do multiple takes of that kiss, over and over again. It wasn’t romantic. Their director was being anal about how he wanted it to look and some of the crew was watching too and Clarke was acutely aware of the cameras on them every second, even when they weren’t filming.

Their castmates, Jasper and Monty, had been harassing them all fucking week about the “Big Kiss”. The whole thing made Clarke’s skin feel itchy and tight, so bad that she developed a splotchy pink rash on her neck.

Clarke isn’t uncomfortable with kissing scenes or sex scenes, for that matter. She has been nude on camera before. She’s a professional and she can handle it. Except for the fact now it’s with _Bellamy_. He isn’t just her best friend. He is her _partner_ on set, her anchor when the show took off 5 years ago and fame upended their lives.

She can’t do this, any of this, without him.

Clarke could survive _Spacewalkers_ ending if she had to. She could find another job. What she can’t survive is losing Bellamy as a friend. She is terrified that forcing physical intimacy— _pretend_ physical intimacy—will screw up the deep bond they have.

So far, it hadn’t. Everything else was awkward about the kiss scene, but not them. Clarke was able to tease Bellamy about his breath mints. He made her laugh in between takes. They shared mutual annoyed looks over Jaha’s pushy direction. They got through it together, like they did everything else.

Once they’re done eating, Clarke shakes out her nerves at best as she can. One of them has to take charge over this and if Bellamy isn’t comfortable, she’ll lead them through it.

Clarke retrieves her own script from her room and plops back on the couch, cross-legged. “Let’s start from the door closing.”

She can see Bellamy’s throat bob as he swallows roughly. He’s nervous. She can tell by the way he’s suddenly fidgeting his fingers. Bellamy doesn’t fidget.

Clarke’s anxiety is chased down by a wave of affection. She lays her hand over Bellamy’s larger one and waits for their eyes to meet. “It’s okay. This isn’t a casting couch. I’m not gonna make you take off your clothes, Bell.”

Her dumb joke sticks. Bellamy’s lips twitch with tentative amusement.

“Not even to see my _insane_ thighs?” he retorts mockingly.

Clarke winks at him. “I’ve seen them enough. Thank Google images.”

Bellamy pushes her back with a snort and Clarke laughs, half in relief as the wrong kind of tension evaporates from the room. This is how they’re going to make it through this. Easy, familiar banter. Poking fun like they do at nosy interview questions. They’ve got this.

Bellamy starts the scene and like always, Clarke loses herself inside the character of _Avery Grant._ She’s no longer an actress fighting not-so-platonic feelings for her co-star. Avery is cool and collected. She sets her emotions and pain aside because the mission is more important.

Across from her, Bellamy is gone too. It’s mesmerizing to see. Even years later, Clarke is still awed by him, how Bellamy transforms into another person. His mannerism, his eyes, even his voice is now owned by _Kellan Spencer._

And Kellan and Avery are in love. Madly, stupidly, in love. Their love story has been five seasons in the making and Clarke knows they owe it to their devoted fans to make this scene they’ve been waiting for _worth_ it.

Hell, she owes it to Avery. This is her moment to be with the man she loves—to break open her many walls and let herself _feel_.

By their fourth time doing the scene, the scripts have been abandoned. They have their lines memorized now and Clarke notes this is it. Without the scripts to hide behind, there is nothing keeping her and Bellamy from cutting the scene before they kiss and simulate sex on screen.

For the first time, Clarke curses the fact _Spacewalkers_ isn’t on a safe, family-friendly network. The show is dark and violent at times and has adult content, including full-on love scenes that don’t just fade to black once some skin is shown. Clarke hasn’t minded before, with Avery’s other partners. She likes how gritty and _real_ the show is, usually.

Except when it makes her get naked with her best friend in front of their entire crew.

Her heart bangs against her ribs like it’s asking to be set free. Clarke tries to give them both an out. “We can stop now. We don’t have to actually do this, full out, until Tuesday.”

Bellamy shakes his head. His face is set in determination, similar to when he volunteered to catch the rat out of Harper’s trailer. “It’s not going to get any easier if we avoid it.”

He’s right. He had the right idea, showing up here to rehearse. This will be slightly less mortifying if they’re not doing it for the first time in front of an audience. Maybe after a dozen tries, Clarke will stop caring that she’s topless in front of him or maybe the butterflies will die out once they finally get it over with.

Like she can trick her body into being immune to him. This gorgeous, talented, frustrating guy that she sometimes wants to punch in the face and somehow still likes better than anyone else.

“I’m so fucking nervous, Bell,” Clarke blurts. She feels better just putting it out there.

Surprise makes his dark brown eyes widen. “Since when do you get stage fright?”

Clarke huffs out air. “Not stage fright. It’s different. It’s…you.”

Bellamy’s lips form a self-deprecating smirk she hasn’t seen in ages. “I know I’m not Roan. You can close your eyes and pretend if you like, Princess.”

And she wants to punch him again. He deserves it this time when she shoves at his shoulder.

“Ugh.” She wrinkles her lip at him. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant. I don’t care that you’re not a stupid underwear model. It’s different because we’re friends and I don’t want this to make it weird.”

Bellamy’s expression softens. “That’s what you’re worried about? Clarke.”

He sighs her name with fondness and exasperation like the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t deserve an argument from him. Her lips curve into an almost smile and she nudges her knee with his so he’ll give her one anyway.

“Look,” he says, giving in, “it doesn’t matter if this is so painfully awkward we can’t make eye contact for nine days.” Clarke laughs, but he pushes on. “We’ll still be friends. Always.”

Bellamy reaches over, tugging gently at the necklace she’s wearing. “It’s you and me, Princess. Of course, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry about that.”

Clarke smiles, glancing down at his fingers. He’s pulling at the dorky friendship necklaces she bought for them after _Spacewalkers_ almost got canceled in season 3. Clarke feared not seeing him almost every day and made them swear that they’d keep being friends, no matter where life might take them. Octavia mocked them endlessly for it, but she’d never seen Bellamy without the infinity charm around his neck. The match to her own.

She nods and Bellamy nods back at her, eyes unbearably soft. She has to look away.

The problem is, it’s _not_ awkward. Not even close. Even when it should be.

They transition back into the scene, starting from the beginning. Clarke can _feel_ the chemistry between them—between _Avery and Kellan_ —thickening the air, drawing them into each other. Her skin prickles like there’s an electric current passing through her and she can tell Bellamy feels it too, his pupils dilated and his breathing heavy.

Kellan tenderly pushes her hair behind her ear and his fingers linger on her cheek. Her eyelids flutter at the touch. She wants to feel the heat of his fingerprints dragging across her bare skin. Everywhere.

Avery forces her eyes back open. “We can’t do this. You _know_ we can’t.”

Frustration puckers between Kellan’s eyebrows. “Why not? Because it would be so wrong to have something for ourselves for once? Tell me what you _want_ , Avery.”

Her bottom lip trembles. She can’t. “The mission. Our people. That’s what matters, Kellan.”

He brings his forehead down to touch hers, lingering there. Their breaths mingle. “And this? What does _this_ matter?”

She can’t lie to him. Tell him that it doesn’t matter. It means everything. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted for herself. Selfishly. Him.

“Don’t tell me what our people need. Aren’t you tired of living for them? What about you? What do want, Avery? What do you _need_?”

“You.” She doesn’t have to think about it. This choice is easy. The easiest she’s ever made. “I need you, Kellan.”

He nods, slightly, against her temple. Almost impatiently. He’s heard this before. “Is that all?”

Avery’s eyes squeeze close. She’s trembling all over from the raw truth of it—what she’s only admitted to herself on dark, lonely nights. Never spoken out loud. Never given the power to use against her, like a weapon.

“I love you,” she whispers.

His mouth descends on hers and the taste of him is so familiar, so _Bellamy_ that Clarke is shocked back into her body like the crash of a lightning strike, her veins left blazing.

It’s _her_ hands that yank Bellamy closer, wind through his thick curls, slide herself onto his lap. She feels his arms wrap around her waist and she knows the strength of them, has felt them playfully lift her into the air and hug her tightly after she’s had a rough day.

She should stop. She’s broken character and it’s only a dangerous slope going any deeper. But his tongue strokes hers inside a sinfully hot kiss and Clarke is lost to everything. Why the fuck does Bellamy have to be such a good kisser?

Their actions are pretend, play-acting at passion, yet the hunger inside her has a real, beating pulse. Clarke pushes forward and Bellamy lets her lay him back against the couch, straddling his waist.

Her hips grind down as slick heat pools between her legs. Bellamy’s hips buck up to meet hers and they’re chasing the same friction, finding a rhythm of push and pull.

A deep moan tears out of his chest. Clarke _feels_ the sound throb in her cunt.

“Let me make love to you,” he breathes, pleads, into her ear. “Just once.”

 _Once?_ Clarke’s mind echoes with a pang of disappointment. Then she remembers that Kellan’s line. Fuck.

The reminder douses her with cold water. Bellamy’s reading lines. He doesn’t want _her_. He’s uncomfortable with this whole process and here she is, pouncing on him and ready to rip his clothes off.

Clarke sits back, trying to catch her breath. She has to find a way back into character. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger. When she can detach herself instead of _enjoying_ this. God. What is wrong with her?

Bellamy opens his eyes when she pulls away from him. They’re still dilated, almost black and glazed over until he blinks into focus. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

She shifts on top of him, debating if she should be honest. Admit this is harder than she thought. They can figure it out together. But then a low, unfamiliar sound escapes Bellamy and Clarke suddenly registers the hard length of him underneath her.

Her eyes widen. “Oh,” she gasps.

He’s turned on too. At least he’s attracted to her and she can feel less guilty about getting carried away.

Bellamy’s blushing. Her dorkiness must be rubbing off on him. She’s seen him much smoother than this on any given night in a bar. Hell, they’ve grinded on _each other_ at clubs before. Why is this so different?

Less alcohol. More lights. That’s all.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Clarke. I didn’t mean to…”

She giggles, mostly out of relief. “It’s okay. It happens.”

Bellamy’s hands are running up and down her back. She can’t tell if it’s meant to comfort her or him, maybe both of them. “Do you want to stop?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You?”

“No,” he admits, sounding apologetic still. “Just, um, give me a minute.”

She lets him have all the time he needs. She needs it too. Eventually, her pulse slows down and the hot flush in her body cools. She’s determined to ignore how attracted to him she is. This isn’t for pleasure. This is work. No different than her love scene with Roan’s character last season. It can’t be.

After some time, Bellamy nods at her that he’s ready to go.

Clarke sets her script down again. She refreshes herself to Avery’s thoughts in this scene. Her stolen moment with Kellan. In their world of intergalactic war, there are no promises of tomorrow, so this might be her first and last time with Kellan. She wants to make it memorable.

She drapes herself back over Bellamy’s long body pressed into the couch and shivers as he purrs the line into her ear again, drenched in need.

At her nod, his muscular arms crush her against him as they kiss and rut at each other with desperate abandon. The dam holding back their feelings has been broken open and there is no going back now.

She knots her fingers through the strands of his hair and revels in every pleased hum he makes when she pulls. She likes his low grunts when she slides her crotch slowly and purposefully over his even better. His fingers tease the bare skin across her back, slipping under her shirt and wandering freely since Clarke isn’t wearing a bra.

Then there’s the moment in the script when Kellan takes control. Clarke knows in the back of her mind it’s coming, but a gasp still escapes her when Bellamy suddenly surges up and flips them over. Her legs part readily to embrace him, bracketing around his hips.

Avery isn’t the type of girl to lay back and let a man have his way with her, so Clarke drags her mouth away from the snare of Bellamy’s deep, heady kisses.  

She arches her head back against the armrest and exposes her neck, using her grip on the back of Bellamy’s hair to guide him down—right where she wants to feel lips suck on her skin. It doesn’t take him long to find the sensitive spot. And when his tongue laves over it, Clarke moans loudly and thrusts her hard nipples into his chest.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “ _Clarke_.”

Her name should be a warning. The shrieking alarm that wakes her up. She can feel Bellamy’s cock, stiff again, poking into her stomach. Her cunt drips through the cotton of her leggings, her body a live wire of thrumming heat. She doesn’t _want_ to stop. She wants Bellamy to fuck her into this sofa, so hard her neighbors can hear them going at it.

Thankfully, at least one of them has their brain still online. Bellamy stiffens a few moments after her name falls from his mouth in a groan of pleasure.

He springs up like she’s burned him. Before she can take a breath, he’s on the other end of the couch. Clarke sits up slower, straightening out her bunched up T-shirt so she has something to do with her hands. Something that isn’t hauling Bellamy back so she can bite at his red, addictive mouth. They tremble uncontrollably and her breaths come quick, her pulse wild.

That’s how Bellamy looks too. Wild, ravaged. His hair tousled like he’s just been fucked and it’s hard for Clarke to concentrate on anything else when her hot best friend has sex-hair.

She pulls herself together, barely, as Bellamy rubs a hand across his face

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” His voice cracks over her name. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Hey, hey.” She reaches out to tug his wrist down because he won’t look at her. “Stop apologizing. It’s just me here. We’re figuring this out.”

Bellamy still looks miserable despite her reassurances, as if he’s done something unforgivable. She can’t have that. It wedges a knife between her ribs to see his face like that.

She crawls over to him, cupping his flushed cheeks in her hands and holds his guilt-darkened gaze. “It’s _not_ your fault. I got carried away too. The line blurs sometimes when you’re caught up in the moment. It happens.”

“Stop.” Bellamy shakes his head, gently but firmly pushing her away. “Stop saying that. The only reason it’s happening is because I can’t pretend, Clarke. I can’t act like I don’t want you. I can’t shut off that part of me like I’m supposed to.”

“I can’t either,” she admits softly. “But, Bell, we _have_ to.”

He looks away from her. “I know.”

They have to do this scene. Their crew, Jaha, their entire fanbase is waiting for it. Demanding it.

She understands his fear. It’s just as likely she’ll moan _his_ name during filming on Tuesday and then die of mortification in front of everyone. The line between professional and personal has never been so thin for her at this moment.

So Clarke strips off her shirt and lets it fall to the floor. Because it’s not like her attraction to Bellamy is going anywhere.

Bellamy gapes at her naked chest, hunger darkening his eyes this time before he forces himself to meet her eye-level. “What are you doing?”

Clarke climbs back into his lap, slowly, so he can track her movements. The most important line she can’t cross is making Bellamy uncomfortable.

He hesitates like he’s afraid to touch her now, but she nods in encouragement. Then, so lightly it makes her shiver down to her toes, his hands find her bare waist and rest there. Clarke leans into him, her arms winding around his neck until her breaths hit his lips with every heavy exhale. She can feel the cool silver of his necklace grazing her arms.

Her pulse is a fluttering hummingbird going a 100 beats a minute. Tension wraps around them, forming a bubble that both of them are scared to break. Because this is real. This is _them_. Bellamy and Clarke.

They aren’t play-acting anymore. It’s possible they never were.

She lets her chest press into his, lets Bellamy feel the tight tips of her nipples on him. Warm skin against warm skin. It makes her ache for more, for his body wrapped around hers, inside her.

“ _Clarke_ …” a pained exhale.

She’s an expert at Bellamy’s subtext by now. The fear in his eyes is at war with his desire—a desire for _her_. How has she not noticed it before? How many times has she confused Kellan’s longing and loving gazes with Bellamy’s?

She can’t make that mistake now. The actor’s veil has been dropped and it’s only Bellamy that gazes up her with familiar, expressive eyes and his mouth parted in silent wonder. He looks at her now not become somebody’s directed him to be in love, but just because she’s Clarke— _his_ Clarke—and he can’t see anything, anyone, else.

“Touch me,” Clarke whispers. “Forget about the script. Forget about everyone else. Just…you and me, right?”

Hope lights up his eyes. They’re in this together. Giving in. And whatever comes next.

Bellamy kisses her. It’s unmistakably _him_ this time and no one else. Fierce yet still tender. Clarke melts into him, knowing the imitation she’s had before could not compare to the real thing. His hand wraps around the back of her neck to drag her in deeper and as they kiss and kiss, she feels them tumbling over the edge, into an abyss of freed passion.

She gets his shirt off and his jeans. He peels her damp leggings off. When they’re down to their underwear, Clarke whispers in his ear about moving to her bed. Bellamy picks her up as her legs fold around him and it’s the closest thing she’s ever experienced to a movie magic moment in real life.

She bites at his jaw and sucks wet kisses down his neck as he carries them to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. As soon as he drops her onto the edge of her bed, Clarke tugs his boxers off his hips.

The reveal doesn’t disappoint. Bellamy’s hard cock looks just as good as she’s secretly imagined for years—mostly in the shower—standing big and thick from a nest of dark curls.

Her mouth waters at the thought of tasting him.

Clarke sits back on her knees, licking her lips as she meets Bellamy’s eye. “I really want to suck your cock,” she tells him bluntly. “Can you let me do that, Bell?”

He lets out a strangled, almost-laugh sound. “ _Let_ you? God, Clarke, you can have whatever the hell you want right now.”

She grins, pleased at his response. Holding his hooded gaze, Clarke leans in to take hold of his cock, loving the hot weight of it in her palm. Anticipation twists her stomach to feel him on her tongue. She wastes no time, thumbing at the pearl of precum already there and spreading it around the swollen head of his dick.

Her eyes flick up to catch the pleasure slackening Bellamy’s expression. He’s so gorgeous. Every part of him. Clarke can’t wait to give him this, to please him, to hear him moan for her and only her.

She anchors her hand around the thick base of his cock and holds it there for her to sink her mouth onto. Slowly, savoring the salty taste blooming on her tongue. She moans around his length and Bellamy swears loudly, his jaw clenching above her. Their eyes stay locked as she takes him in further until the tip grazes the back of her throat.

“Fuck me, Princess,” Bellamy groans, “So good. Your mouth is perfect, babe.”

Pride glows in her chest at his praising words. Clarke can only hold him there for a few seconds before her eyes start to sting. She slides his cock out, letting it drag along her tongue, and laps at his leaking slit, licking up more precum. She kisses the head before swallowing him down again, using her hand to stroke the length she can’t fit into her mouth.

Clarke feels Bellamy’s fingers petting through her hair as she sucks him off. “You look so good, Clarke. Pretty lips around my cock. Fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

Her jaw starts to ache from the stretch of him. It makes Clarke even wetter, having her mouth full of him. Her eyes drink in the sight of Bellamy’s head tipped back, the smile playing at his lips. He’s enjoying this as much as she is giving it to him.

She gets a rhythm going, her hand working the base, and letting her mouth do the rest, sucking and swallowing over every inch of his cock in her reach. Bellamy’s moans and murmured praises making her flush all over, her body tingling with currents of arousal.

The sounds he’s making low in his throat are so hot, Clarke can’t resist touching herself. She slips her left hand into her panties and rubs over her slit, spreading her wetness around her needy cunt. Just one finger on her clit is enough, for now, to relieve some of the ache.

Then Bellamy’s tugging lightly on her hair, urging her to pull off of him. Clarke does, panting for breath as she blinks up at him in confusion. She gladly would have him finish in her mouth if he let her.

Bellamy smiles. He uses his thumb to wipe away the sheen on her lips. “Look at you, touching yourself while you suck me off. That gets you hot, Princess?”

“ _You_ do,” Clarke admits. “You taste so good, Bell. Even better than I imagined.”

Bellamy’s brows arch up in interest, smirking to himself. “You’ve thought about me? Got yourself off thinking about my cock?”

Clarke yanks on Bellamy’s hips to get him to join her on the bed as she says, “Your hands, your mouth, your cock. I’d pretend it was your fingers fucking me. I’d scream your name as I made myself come.”

“Holy fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy grunts, his voice rougher and deeper than before. “What are you doing to me?”

She has a lot of things she wants to do to him, for them to do to each other. For now, she lets Bellamy slide her panties down her legs and lays on her back, granting him a good look at her. Her chest floods with warmth at his awed-filled gaze, running his eyes down her chest, her stomach and her exposed cunt.

It’s too much. Clarke feels almost shy, suddenly, being under the focus of Bellamy’s attention. No distractions. No camera. Just her, naked, and unable to look away in the face of her best friend’s obvious admiration.

Like he can sense it, Bellamy strokes his hand soothingly over her leg, stopping to squeeze at her ankle. “I’ve thought about this too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “For _years_. God, you have no idea. No idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

His admission makes her grin like a fool. How dumb they’ve been, wasting so much time when they could have had this.

Invigorated, Clarke rolls Bellamy onto his back so she can straddle his waist again. She likes having him underneath her. This time she gets to feel the hard, smooth texture of his cock rubbing against her cunt lips, gathering slickness.

Bellamy half-laughs, half-moans as his head lands on her pillow. “I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

Clarke grins wickedly, taking his hands up to palm her breasts. “Oh, Bell, we’ve just gotten started.”

The gleam in his eye suggests this isn’t a problem. Quite the opposite. If Clarke had to guess, she’d say he _likes_ her being direct about what she wants. Not all guys or girls are cool with her take-charge attitude in bed, but Clarke should have known they’d be compatible like this too.

She moans when Bellamy gives her tits a firm squeeze. His thumbs circle around her nipples, caressing over the hard peaks. Her head tips back in pleasure as her eyes close. She’s more than ready for Bellamy to discover how sensitive her tits are.

Clarke can feel his burning gaze on her even when she can’t see it. His voice dips to a sexy rumble. “Feels good, Princess?”

She nods. “So good, Bell.” Her eyes crack open, finding his stare on her, intense enough to liquefy her. She feels powerful under that gaze, like a goddess. Like she can ask Bellamy for anything and he’ll give it to her. “More, please.”

“Anything you want,” Bellamy murmurs. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Gonna make you feel good, I promise.”

Bellamy sits up, anticipating what she needs. He bends his head to lick over the right nipple and she gasps at the sensation of his wet tongue lapping her. He suckles at each peak, urged by her soft moans and her nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck.

Soon, she squeezes his neck to get his attention and kisses him hungrily, needing another fix of Bellamy’s fierce, sweet mouth. Clarke realizes she’d be content, thrilled even, just doing this. Kissing him in the privacy of her room, in their bubble, until their lips are numb.

With his fingers wrapped through strands of her long hair, kissing her hot and breathless, the want opens up inside of her for _more_. More than just tonight.

She wants a lazy kiss in the morning, with Bellamy bleary-eyed in his glasses and hair rumpled. A quick kiss goodbye. Kisses on the sidewalk, in front of their friends, on the red carpet, while they’re watching re-runs of _The Office_ and eating Chipotle.

She wants all of Bellamy’s kisses.

Fuck. That’s going to be a big problem.

Clarke tries to focus on now, the pulsing heat between her legs and desire turning her blood into fire. She stuffs those other wants away, out of sight. They have no place in this bed, with her co-star and closest friend. Here is for hot sex and uncomplicated feelings. This moment only.

 _This_ —Bellamy’s hands and lips reverent as they run over her skin, like every inch he touches is the promise land he’s been searching for. The uncharted territory he is hungry to map out, to learn. And this—Clarke roaming over his broad shoulders and back, squeezing the firm muscle of his ass in her grip.

Each touch is everything and not enough.

“Bellamy,” she pleads.

Finally, he sneaks in between their flushed bodies and finds her clit. Pleasure tingles through her with every sweeping tease, his thumb pressing in hard. Her hips rock forward to feel more. He moves in perfect, tight circles over her clit.

Bellamy kisses her neck through it, as Clarke arches her back and moans fall from her parted lips. His free hand strokes up and down her back in a way that is simply Bellamy, sweet and encouraging, and she loves it. Loves the sweet words he murmurs in between soft, wet kisses to her throat.

“That’s it, pretty girl. You sound amazing. So sexy, Clarke. Tell me it feels good.”

“Yes,” she cries out, already feeling her pussy flutter with her approaching orgasm. “So good, Bell. So fucking good. You’re so good to me.”

Bellamy hums, bringing his kisses down to her chest. Flicking his tongue over her nipples to add to her pleasure. Clarke uses a hand to pinch and squeeze as Bellamy suckles and nips gently at her other breast. This, right here, is something better than her fantasies—the reality of Bellamy and pleasure assaulting her from all sides.

“Oh Bell,” she gasps, unable to stop the noises spilling out or her grinding forward into his hand. “I’m gonna come. I’m so close, I can’t—”

“Yeah? You wanna come like this, Princess?”

Clarke doesn’t know if she nods, or just whimpers. She’s vaguely aware of her nails digging into Bellamy’s neck, probably leaving behind marks. The rest of her is consumed by pleasure tugging insistently at her gut, her cunt twitching and clenching in anticipation. She wants her orgasm to crash into her, break her apart for Bellamy to put back together.

And it does.

She collapses onto Bellamy’s chest when her climax recedes, no breath left in her lungs. “Fuck me. That was amazing.”

Bellamy chuckles huskily and drops a kiss onto the crown of her head. “You’re telling me. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Clarke takes a moment, still trembling from her orgasm before she pushes up to kiss him. Her hands cup his face. This kiss is tender, a feather’s brush of lips. Simply connecting after sharing such an intimate experience. That’s what makes it the most dangerous kiss of all.

Bellamy’s nose nudges hers when their lips slide away from each other and Clarke melts in his arms all over again. There is no pretending anymore, not for her. It’s more than just sex. She wants it to mean more for them—a declaration of what they are to each other, _real_ in a way you can’t take back.

“I think this is the part when you ask to make sweet love to me,” Clarke whispers.

She means it as a joke, to keep the mood light instead of losing herself in Bellamy completely. But it falls flat thanks to the sincerely she can’t keep out of her voice.

Bellamy senses it because he’s Bellamy. He brushes a strand of hair out her face, his brown eyes intent on hers. “Is that what we’re doing?”

His question makes Clarke’s cheeks heat, which is ridiculous at this point. But Bellamy’s tone is curious, leaving it up to her to decide what this means. He’s giving her the chance to shrug it off, call it a casual fuck if that’s what she wants. They can laugh about this in a few days. Clarke can endure Raven’s teasing about being another Bellamy Blake groupie.

Tension simmers between them in the silence. And Clarke knows she has no intention of taking it back. Taking anything back about this unexpected, amazing night.

“Yes,” Clarke says. She presses a soft kiss to Bellamy’s wrist, where his hand rests on her cheek. “It is for me.”

She sees what her answer does to him, the awe that fills his expression. Like he can’t believe this is real any more than she can.

“Me too,” Bellamy murmurs and god, does she believe him.

“Good,” Clarke says, smiling softly.

A gasp bursts out of her when Bellamy rolls them over suddenly, making space for himself in between her parted thighs. He kisses the top of her breasts, sweeps his tongue over her nipples, and drags his soft, nipping kisses down her stomach. Clarke arches back against her pillows, granting him every inch of her for Bellamy to claim.

She spreads her legs wider for him, shivering uncontrollably when his breath reaches her exposed pussy. Bellamy’s hands splayed on her thighs, holding her there as he bends down to give her clit a gentle lick. She’s still tingly and sensitive from her recent orgasm, her thigh spasming under his grip.

Clarke moans around the languid, almost lazy way he’s eating her out, the flicks of his tongue deliberate and so, so good. His intense eyes hold on hers while he dips inside her slit and it’s easily the hottest thing she has ever experienced.

Bellamy eagerly laps up the fresh flood of wetness her arousal creates. He lets out a pleased hum. “Mhmm, you taste so sweet, babe. Your pretty cunt is so wet for me.”

Her toes curl from the attention Bellamy is paying to her body, lavishing her. He pauses to kiss her sensitive inner thighs and the moles she has scattered there. Then he’s diving back into her cunt, stroking his tongue in skilled patterns over her clit. He draws the nub between his lips, sucking lightly and Clarke cries out.

He’s good. He’s so fucking good she could cry from it.

“Wanna come with you,” Clarke manages to pant, her chest heaving from building pleasure. “With you inside me.”

She’s already teetering on the edge of orgasm again and thankfully Bellamy listens to her before she plunges over. He pulls back, his eyes gleaming as he wipes her slickness off his mouth and chin. There’s a cockiness in his face that she finds dead-sexy instead of irritating right now.

Clarke reaches for her bedside drawer, hunting for the pack of condoms stored there. She doesn’t want to wait another second for Bellamy to be inside her.  She rips a package open and hands it off to Bellamy to roll on, watching with eager butterflies fluttering in her belly as he gives himself a few hurried strokes.

When he’s ready, he bows over her, one hand braced by her head as the other takes his length into his palm. Her thighs part to embrace him in between her legs. She inhales sharply when he pushes in, all the way until he bottoms out.

 _Fuck_. He feels good. So full buried inside her. It makes her inner walls flutter around his cock.

“God, Princess,” Bellamy mutters, echoing her thoughts. “You feel so fucking good.”

His hips jerk like he can’t keep himself still and Clarke is glad for it. She might lose it a little if he doesn’t start fucking her.

She’s so wet for him, it’s slick and easy as he moves. Clarke moans in the back of her throat. The feeling of Bellamy’s cock stretching her, filling her, it’s too much for her to keep quiet.

“Yeah, babe,” Bellamy says huskily, encouraging her pleasured noises. “That’s it.”

He rocks into her harder. Soon her moans are joined by the bed creaking underneath them. Clarke arches upward to meet Bellamy’s thrusts and sparks a rhythm between them, their natural chemistry translating effortlessly to their sex.

She always suspected Bellamy would be amazing in bed. Her fantasy yet again pales in comparison to reality.

Reality is the softness in Bellamy’s face, all of his walls stripped down at her door. Warmth and awe in his eyes as he watches her like he’s transfixed, categorizing all of her reactions. He adjusts his hips’ movements to her rhythm and the sounds he pulls out of her.

Bellamy takes hold of her leg, hitching it higher around his back. He shifts until he finds the right angle, the _perfect_ angle, and hits her sweet spot head-on.

Clarke gasps. “Oh God, Bell, there! Right there!”

She catches a flash of his grin as her eyes flutter. He snaps his hips harder at her command, driving his cock into the spot that makes her pant and cling onto him. Her nails dig into his shoulders, careless to the marks she leaves behind.

Just like that, she’s circling the edge of her orgasm again. With every thrust, Clarke feels it build. She starts to squirm under him, her breath caught in her lungs. So close.

Bellamy dips down to kiss her neck, tasting the sweat gathered on her skin. “You’re gonna come for me again, Princess? Come on my cock?”

She nods jerkily. The heat pulsing in her gut is too much. Her toes are curled, her cunt clenching around his hard length. She just needs a little more, more of him, to get her over the edge.  

“Bell,” she rasps, “ _please_.”

Bellamy’s hand moves to where they’re intimately joined and finds her clit. He kneads the sensitive nub with his thumb, rubbing intently as he murmurs into her ear. Clarke is lost to pleasure, her ears vaguely catching his sweet nothings to come for him.

Finally, her orgasm surges up and sends her falling into bliss. Clarke arches her back into the feeling, her thighs spasming around Bellamy’s hips.

God damn it, it’s good. She is helpless to the whimpers that escape her. For once, she is unselfconscious about how she sounds during orgasm. She trusts Bellamy to not judge her, to want nothing else than for her to enjoy herself.

And she’s right. When Clarke opens her eyes, Bellamy is smiling softly at her. She almost loses her breath again at the tenderness in his expression.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she giggles.

He’s holding himself still for her, despite the fact he must be just as desperate to finish as she was. Clarke wants that for him. She wants to see Bellamy Blake fall apart, feel him come inside her.

Her cunt is still pulsing with aftershocks, but Clarke pushes through her sensitivity for a moment. Ignoring how boneless and sated she is, ready to melt into the mattress.

She cants her hips up in slow, deliberate movements urging Bellamy to move with her.

Bellamy moans as she works herself on his cock. “Clarke—”

Her hands slink up his neck into his hair, tangling through the soft curls. She draws him into a lazy, deep kiss. “Come inside me, Bell,” she says against his lips. “I want it.”

Her words make him groan. “I want that too, Princess.”

He starts fucking her again, catching up to her unhurried rhythm. He rolls his hips, not with the intent of hitting her G-spot but only seeking pleasure inside her body. And Clarke is happy to give it to him.

Their tongues brush together in languid kisses. Her fingers stroke through his hair, as his calloused hands run down her body. It feels as if time has slowed down just for them, to exist in this bed away from everything and everyone else.

She isn’t sure how long it is later when Bellamy breaks their kiss. His breath has quickened. With his forehead still pressed to hers, he says, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

His cock twitches inside her. Clarke feels a tug low in her belly when Bellamy finishes, releasing a deep moan. He sounds really sexy when he comes. Her hands caress his back through it, as Bellamy shudders on top of her. His hips jerk once last time before he goes still, all of his muscles relaxing.

Bellamy tucks his face against her neck, recovering. They both lie there for a while. If it was someone else, Clarke might demand they get off of her. But it’s Bellamy and even when he’s damp with sweat, he smells incredible. It should be hot and uncomfortable, yet Clarke is too content to move.

She almost starts drifting off when Bellamy pushes himself up, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Clarke smiles. “You’re perfect.”

Her smile widens when Bellamy ducks his head at that. Bashful at a _compliment_ , while they’re naked in bed together. He’s adorable.

Carefully, Bellamy pulls out of her and takes care of the condom. When he comes back, there’s a new hesitancy with him as he halts at the foot of the bed, looking uncertain.

Clarke doesn’t mind the view, but he’s being weird. “What’s wrong?”

Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck, not meeting her eye. “Nothing. It’s just…do you want me to go now?”

Something goes cold and dead inside her chest. “Is that what you want?”  

She’s soothed by him shaking his head immediately. “No, but, I don’t usually stay _after_ …”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him. He’s being ridiculous. “Bell, get _over_ here.”

He looks back at her from under his lashes. It’s not a look she’s seen from him before. Both hopeful and almost timid. “Yeah?”

She nods, beckoning him over more forcefully. At last, Bellamy joins her on the bed and lets her cuddle up against his chest. She pulls her sheets up to blanket them. Once he settles, she feels the tension melt out of him.

It baffles her. “Did you really think I was going to kick you out?”

Bellamy shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if you were done with me. You know, getting it out of our system and all that.”

Him actually believing her bullshit makes her heart hurt. She can’t have that, even if he doesn’t feel the same. Bellamy deserves to know she cares about him so much more than just a warm body or release of sexual tension.

Clarke leans her head back against his shoulder to see his face. He’s keeping his emotions under wraps, which hurts worse, but she can spot the tick in his jaw.

“Bell, you’ll never be ‘out of my system’, okay? I just said that because I wanted an excuse to jump your bones.”

Bellamy’s lips twitch, almost smiling. “You don’t need an excuse. If you want sex, Princess, all you have to do is ask.”

 _Say something,_ her mind screams at her. _Say you want more than that._

Her mouth won’t open, sealed shut by fear. All of her old worries are coming storming back. She can’t lose Bellamy. Not as a friend or the best scene partner she’s ever had. If hooking up is all that Bellamy is interested in, she’ll take it. She’ll take whatever he is willing to give her.

Clarke returns her cheek to his warm chest. She isn’t going to waste the time she has him by beating herself up. Her eyes closed as Bellamy starts running his fingers through her hair. Peace washes over her.

She’s startled by Bellamy’s voice. When he speaks, there’s a note of vulnerability not there before. “I know you don’t date co-workers after what happened with Lexa, but…I think it could be different for us.”

Her eyes snap open. What is he saying?

Hearing Lexa’s name still stings and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. To say their relationship ended badly is an understatement. The press milked the hell out of their break-up.

Those few months were a dark time for Clarke, having to listen to Lexa talk shit about her, blame _her_ for what went wrong, whenever given the opportunity. She tried to take the high road and keep her mouth shut, no matter how furious and hurt she was.

And Bellamy was there for all of it. He saw the collateral damage and helped pick up the pieces. Apparently, he _listened_ when Clarke swore up and down that she would never date another actress she had to share the screen with.

Clarke shifts out of his arms so she can look at him, propping herself up on her side. “What are you saying?”

“You’re my best friend, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “It’s you and me, always. You don’t have worry about it going to shit if we break-up.” There’s a flash of anger in his eyes. “I would never do what she did to you. You have to know that.”

“I do,” Clarke agrees. “I know you wouldn’t. But that isn’t going to stop things from being awkward if that happens. For us, for everyone.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Awkwardness passes. We’ll be mature about it. _If_ that happens.”

Clarke allows herself a small smile. “Are you saying it won’t?”

“I don’t know.” He grins at her. “I guess I have faith in us. And honestly? I don’t care if you break my heart, Princess. I just want _you_.”

His words make her pulse stutter and her throat tighten with emotion. Clarke can’t help but throw her arms around his neck and yank Bellamy into a heated kiss.

“That’s all I want too,” she admits in a whisper.

Bellamy smiles, brushing her hair behind her ear. “We’re doing this kind of backward, but, do you want to get dinner tomorrow? Maybe something fancier than Chipotle.”

An actual date with her best friend. Clarke stars on a successful TV show, but this might be the best thing she could ever hope for.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Cry with me about Bellarke on [tumblr](http://www.kombellarke.tumblr.com) <3


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